However, Boris Indrikov can command much more than just two wheels at once, even if they do not lay since the times of Richard the Lionheart on the shore of a Zone which was left behind not so much by an apocalypse but rather by a traveling circus. Instead of the slow entropy of the surfaces of Sasha Terebenin, decay shines up here with a Baroque splendor just like in Rustam Khamdamov’s interieurs, which suits quite well for a painter-photographer-translator who has completed the art of Van Eyck, Botticelli and Holbein.